Page 19 of Sinner’s Game

He leans forward, and I think that’s going to happen. That he’s going to sweep me close, and I can finally let go, shedding my fear in the safety of his arms.

But then he clears his throat and takes a step backward. “Right, well, obviously I don’t know who did this, but I doubt it has anything to do with you or Saint’s Angels. Even so, I’m not taking risks, so we get a handle on the situation and then we call the cops. Understand?”

I nod.

“Objections?”

I hesitate only a second, then shake my head. As soon as I do, he moves back around the sofa to the body.

“I'm going to check his ID. The body. You understand?”

“Yeah.”

“Brandy,” he says firmly. “What exactly do you understand?”

“That you’re looking first. Before the cops. And—and if they ask, I never even saw you touch the body.”

“I hate asking you to lie, but if there’s the slightest chance that—”

“No.” I cut him off, hugging myself. “You’re right. You need to be sure. And there’s hardly any possibility this has anything to do with you or Devlin or any of you guys, much less me. This is something else. He got in trouble somehow. Maybe he came here to get something out of that closet. Maybe he trafficks drugs. It could be anything. But it’s not something tied to you or Devlin or Ellie or any of us. It’s not,” I say, my voice rising in panic despite my best efforts to remain calm. “Because, Ronan, I really don’t think I can handle that again.”

“Oh, angel….” He moves swiftly back to me, his hands closing on my shoulders. I want to melt against him. I want to absorb all of his strength. But I don’t. I just stand there, afraid of the body on the floor. Afraid of the way this man makes me feel. And terribly afraid that some new darkness has slipped into my world and that this time, that darkness will break me.

“Hey,” he says, his fingertip going to my chin and lifting it until I’m looking into his sky-blue eyes. “Whatever is going on, you can handle it. But I promise you, Brandy, you won’t have to handle it alone.”

“Thank you,” I say, feeling like an idiot for not keeping my shit together. “It’s just—”

“There’s a body in your living room. You don’t have to apologize for being freaked out.”

“Right.” I square my shoulders. “Who wouldn’t be?”

He gently cups my face, and I resist the urge to actively lean into his palm. “You steady?”

“Yeah.” I stay put as Ronan returns to my dead landlord. He squats down again, then pulls a pair of latex gloves out of his pocket and starts to pat him down.

“He’s been dead for about an hour,” he says as he gently turns the body and tugs the wallet out of my landlord’s back pocket. I glance away, the process oddly ghoulish. “An ME will know for sure, but based on my experience and the way the scent of gunpowder has faded, that’s my educated guess.”

“You, um, just carry gloves?”

His fingers gingerly pull a mobile phone from Mr. Big’s jacket pocket. “I keep a pair folded up in my wallet, yeah. They tend to come in handy.”

“Oh. Right. Of course.” I think about the kind of work he does. Dangerous work with the goal of taking down bad people even while staying outside the law. So, yeah. I guess habitually carrying gloves makes sense.

“Anything on the phone?”

Ronan shakes his head, then slides the phone back into Mr. Big’s jacket pocket. “Locked.”

“Too bad,” I say. “It probably has his calendar. Maybe he’s in town to meet someone and it got nasty.”

“Possibly.” Ronan shuffles through the wallet as he speaks. “Robert Matheson.” He glances up at me, and I nod, then hug myself as I remember the way he’d yelled at me just a few hours earlier.

“That’s Mr. Big’s real name. At least that’s what Gail told me. I didn’t know it until today.”

I shudder, remembering the way he’d come at me. “He was so freaked out when he saw me. God, Ronan, what if we’re wrong and this really does have something to do with me?”

“How could it?” he asks reasonably. “Your first guess was probably right. Someone got wires crossed and forgot to tell you he was in town and you needed to get gone for a few days.”

“Maybe. Gail would know. I just…” I trail off, shaking my head, then laugh a little. “I always thought I’d be better in a crisis. But every time something horrible happens, I go to pieces.”